


drunken sorrow

by thefewthemerrier



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Adultery, Angst and Feels, Bittersweet Ending, Drunkenness, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Repressed Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 10:32:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11507583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefewthemerrier/pseuds/thefewthemerrier
Summary: Needing to extract herself from the craziness engulfing the Northside, Alice finds solace in one specific bar located south, reminiscing the events that led up to that day.





	drunken sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> “Amick herself is rooting for Alice to let it all out and drop her uptight façade and, “maybe have like a wild night out. Maybe with girls, maybe with a guy, I’m just saying. Maybe Alice could have like a night fling with Jughead’s dad. It might be fun that she has to do the walk of shame home. As she stumbles in with like one heel.”
> 
> I’m here to fulfill half of Mädchen Amick’s wish for season two of Riverdale. Plus, the Riverparents were never a clique in this fic. F.P. and Fred have a somewhat stable friendship, Mary and Hermione aren’t really friends, while Alice despises them all.
> 
> This fic partially follows canon compliant, and it centers mostly around Alice and her past as a Serpent; don’t worry, Alice and F.P. will be going at it further into the plot. Bughead is mentioned, only briefly.

The co-owner of The Register cannot take it anymore.

She is in need of some quality time alone to comprehend every tiny gossip and rumor going around Riverdale at the moment, from F.P. Jones’ contemplative release, to wild guesses of who could have shot Fred Andrews.

Some of the accusations have little to no evidence to back them up, while others are incredibly hard to digest, having been carefully thought through.

Alice’s current duty is to read the upcoming news article thoroughly, simply to make sure she did not make rookie mistakes as to discretely let her own opinion sneak into the news article.

She must keep her opinions to herself at any cost.

Rising to her feet, she stretches her arms out, back arching. The advisor sighs, twisting her torso to finally loosen her back muscles.

The habit has developed at a time where Alice has been overloaded with paperwork and has underwent an unhealthy amount of exposure to the artificial light of the computer screen at an unGodly hour.

The blonde steals a glance at the family picture on her right. She reaches out to display it at a proper angle, so that any person who comes inside her office (whether business related or not) can subconsciously praise her for the family she got.

Even though some may have sneaked a peak behind the curtains.

Dwelling too long on repetitive thoughts does her no good, so Alice mentally notes to try and never let that happen again. Shutting down the computer in front of her, she stretches her legs, then stalks to the door, more than ready to call it a day.

The editor digs her phone out of the depths of her purse and texts her daughter that she will be working until late; something about the editing that requires more time than necessary.

Not stressing anymore about arriving late and having to cook dinner since exhaustion has silenced her voice of reason, she determines to head to the southern side of the small town.

Maybe it is boredom that drives her to do such an impertinent thing; visiting the bar she frequently raided in her younger and wilder years. Or maybe it’s the unnerving nostalgia at visualizing her old friends sit at the counter with a can of beer in one hand, cheering as they’re waiting for her arrival.

The foreign emotion settles in the pit of her stomach, and she’s trying her hardest to restrain the tears from falling. Instead, her forefinger slowly wipes the accumulated water off the corners of her eyes with such precision, afraid it’ll ruin her mascara.

Inhaling numerous deep breaths to calm her thumping heartbeat, Alice lectures herself that she must’nt hang onto false hope of getting to relive her teenage years, even if it’s just for one night.

Several motorbikes standing outside the Serpent-populated bar catch her attention, and she’s under the impression that the bar must be full. The bright neon signs are blindingly colorful this starry night, so her eyes squint instantly, reminding her of some of the things she used to loathe about the bar. 

With an air of newfound courage, the former Serpent walks to the door, the sharp heels of her stilettos clicking against the concrete resonates loud and clear in her ears, making her suddenly very aware of her surroundings and of the people whom reside behind the wooden door that’s now merely a few inches from her.

It’s pathetic, really, but the editor cannot help it. What if the people inside have changed as the seasons came and went? Then again, so did she, but sometimes, people do not change for the better.

Despite not wanting to admit it, doubt has begun to creep up on her from behind, convincing her in hushed whispers that those inside do not wish her well.

That she’s not welcomed anymore.

Alice silences the doubt with an enraged murmur of an insult, before her trembling fingers wrap around the handle just as tightly as a boa constrictor would its victim.

Slowly turning the handle, her feet drag the rest of her inside.

In her view appears the infamous billiard table and her fingers slide across the smooth surface, lifting one of the cues and examining it with a half smirk, bringing long forgotten memories along with each twirl of it.

“Alice?”

The unexpected call of her name makes her spin around, dropping the cue.

“I’ll be damned,” the person scratches their head, approaching the previously frightened woman. “You look just as stunning as you did back in the days.”

Cooper huffs and goes to give the man a hug that doesn’t last too long. “Flattery didn’t get you anywhere then, it will sure as hell not get you anywhere now.”

Smiling at her quick remark, the bartender of the Whyte Wyrm withdraws from their short-lived embrace and leads her over to the counter; Alice sitting down on one of the high chairs, while he circles the counter to prepare her usual drink.

“How can you know for sure if it’s still my favorite?” She asks after a minute of familiar silence, in which she has regarded the place properly.

He chuckles. “I don’t. You just look like you could use a strong drink.” The bartender offers her a glass filled with orange-ish liquid and she wholeheartedly whispers her gratitude, before downing the small glass in one go.

During her Serpent years, Alice has made quite the reputation for herself, having been one of the few that could tolerate an exaggerated amount of alcohol in their bloodstream and still could string two words together without hiccuping in between.

Slamming the glass on the smooth-as-usual counter, she gestures with a dismissive flick of her wrist for another glass. As the bartender snickers at her never-changing demeanor while preparing her order, Alice assaults him with numerous questions regarding the mysterious motorbikes standing outside of the bar like nothing.

The bartender stops in his tracks, looking baffled by her cluelessness. “Weren’t you the one whose ears first reached every rumor in town?” Glares are thrown at him from the other side of the counter, not appreciating his teasing at all, and to make matters more endearing, he adds, “Or are your ears the only part of you that’s aged?”

Enraged, the blonde shoots up from her comfortable position in the chair, her calm resolve dispersing into thin air, replaced instead with fiery eyes. One of her hands fists the man’s shirt, yanking him forward with such strength, that he’s having a close-up of her face contorted into displeasure.

“Listen here,  _Grease_ ,” she emphasizes every syllable of his name, her glossed lips curling into a malicious snarl. “I may have left the Serpents, but do not forget that  _snakes don’t shed their skin so easily_.”

The last sentence leaves Alice speechless, and in an effort to try and understand why those words left her mouth, she let’s go of Grease, who eyes her with awe and dismay.

The woman takes a few steps backward, clutching her head with a hand, her blue eyes wildly moving around, trying her hardest to find a logical explanation as to  _why_  she’s bothered to remember those Godforsaken words!

“Alice, are you okay? Was it the drink or…” Grease tries to reach out to her, but all she does is swat his hand away, assuring him that she is in no need of help, and once again inquires where the gang has gone.

This time, the bearded man doesn’t skirt around the question and answers it with a seriousness the editor remembers seeing only when he dealt with business. “As you know, F.P. has been incarcerated.” Unimpressed, Alice wordlessly urges him to continue by flicking her wrist. “The gang has been informed of his early release, and they all stormed out of the bar. By the looks of it, they took my truck.” Alice’s jaw metaphorically hits the floor, but before she can allow him the satisfaction of mindlessly flinging another awful sardonic joke, she quickly and metaphorically picks up her jaw.

Cooper regains her composure, straightening her back and shoulders, lifting her chin a little defiantly, and examines Grease with distrustful eyes. She’ll do anything to look inconspicuous. “And when will they be back?”

“They should be here any―”

The door swings open with indescribable brutality, followed by deep voices celebrating and laughing, boots aggressively tapping the tiled floor as people rush inside.

With her heart picking up its rate, she whirls around, only to be greeted by an unbearable and suffocating silence as the big bad Southside Serpents’ expressions change to intense bewilderment. However, neither of them faze her enough to make her stutter out a lame excuse and leave the bar. No, they all look the same, with their leather jackets and unkempt hair.

Her nose wrinkles involuntarily as a horrible stench of sweat invades her nostrils. It must definitely be from getting so worked up about their leader.

As her cold eyes roam the men-crowd, they immediately stop on an all-too-familiar dark-haired figure, his Serpent jacket tossed over his shoulder, with only two fingers crooked beneath it to hold it in place.

The look he gives her sends constrained chills running along her perpendicular spine.

Not at all liking the way her hands start sweating, she discretely wipes them on her black dress pants.

Alice realizes that the silence has been stretched for far too long, making her so horribly uncomfortable in her own skin, that her fingers subconsciously fidget with the sleeve of her buttoned coat.

It must be the administered alcohol taking control of her nerves and muscles, because she cannot recall ever doing such a thing. Nervously fidgeting in front of the enemy? What kind of brain dead moron does that?

Then again, what kind of brain dead moron goes directly into the lion’s den thinking the lion hibernates?

The unspoken words hang in the air, thickening the growing tension between the unlikely duo, and looking as if having had enough of standing around and watching as they skirt around each other, one of the Serpents in the back crackles into a small laugh, before gladly starting to loudly reminisce about the days where Cooper tended to come unannounced and sometimes purposely late to any vital meeting, just because she loved pushing everyone’s wrong buttons. 

Apparently having caught on what is currently unfolding in front of them, the other strong-built Serpents join in on the reminiscing club, then proceed strutting over to where the blonde stands, extending their arms to wrap her relatively smaller figure into an airless hug, while chanting how good it is to have her back after so many years spent apart. One of them, she cannot see who, teases her that she only came back because of her one and only true love.

Speaking of the one and only, F.P. Jones stands in the doorway, scruntinizing the odd group hug along with the newer members that look on, baffled and unsure of what to do. As the journalist strains a smile at the Serpents surrounding her, her blue irises observe the leader from the corner of her eyes, not once letting him slip out of her sight, much like a hawk stalking its prey.

Their stinky odor will stick to her ironed clothes if she keeps them close for even another second, and very much minding the unconventional invasion of her personal space, Alice roughly pushes at their muscular arms, silently commanding them to back off. Using the given opportunity to extract themselves from the scene, each and every member finds solace either by the billiard table or by the farthest booths located inside the Whyte Wyrm. 

The blonde is left standing with her sharp features twisted into confusion.

After all, Alice has shown just how much of the Southside there’s left inside of her; and she presumes she’s shown plenty of the distinct characteristics in the ten minutes since she’s arrived.

“Alice. What brings you here?” F.P. raises his eyebrows, clearly surprised by her unannounced visit. Moving from his spot to head over to the counter, Alice observes the way his shoulders tense after the question leaves his mouth.

F.P.’s arm purposely brushes against hers, and his footsteps seem to have slowed down the moment Alice’s breath hitches in her throat.

Internally cursing every known God she can think of, the editor swallows the last remainder of fear that’s left inside of her and spins around, crossing her arms in front of her chest, intentionally making it stick out a little.

“Could ask you the same question. Shouldn’t you be incarcerated?” Her voice is calm and even, velvety smooth, as if she’s got the upper hand on the situation. Truth is, the blonde regrets ever coming to this bar, but she cannot resist the urge to bring up a little challenge while staying.

The Serpent’s dark eyes glisten with mischief, and as a way of saying  _bring it on_ , the corner of his lips tug into a smirk.

He shrugs as he answers truthfully. “They’re too preoccupied with catching Fred’s shooter, and given the fact they have no solid evidence against me, they let me go.”

Her eyes narrow. “Just like that?”

A nod follows. “Just like that,” he agrees.

The journalist finds that incredibly hard to believe, and since Jones is involved in this mess, she contemplates if she should call him out on his obvious lie. At last, she mentally shrugs and charges accusations only a journalist would ever think of throwing at an assumed dangerous man.

But she knows better. She  _knows_  him, or rather… used to.

“Are you sure your,” her voice drops an octave, becoming merely the ghost of a whisper among the loud chatter, “ _friends_ ,” she spits out the word as if it were unwanted mud on her polished shoes, “haven’t gotten you out?”

The dark-haired bastard heaves a torturous sigh as he places his jacket on the counter, before beckoning Grease over with two fingers, who immediately brings him a transparent drink, which she guesses must be gin tonic.

After taking a sip, he says, “They were your friends too. Don’t think for one second that they wouldn’t have gone out of their way to try and save you too, Alice. You might not be one of us anymore, but as you damn well know,  _Serpents take care of their own.”_

The revelation takes the blonde aback, and she startles, her calm façade starting to tumble down just like the high walls she’s built around her heart.

Catching a glimpse of the clock on the seaweed-colored wall, she takes notice that it’s well past 10 p.m., and she collapses on the chair beside F.P., calling after Grease to prepare another strong drink.

The enigma of the day is why she cannot understand how everyone can be so nice toward her after everything she’s put them through. Is it all just an act or are they sincere? She cannot be sure.

And that’s exactly why she hides her heart from prying hands and judging eyes.

Cooper is shaken from her reverie as soon as the sound of glass meeting wood reaches her ears, and her eyes instantly look down at her drink. It’s not orange-ish in color like the previous one, instead it’s greenish with two ice cubes floating at the surface, accompanied by a slice of lime.

“Formal.” It is meant as a compliment, but if Grease still has no idea how to take one seriously, then it’s not her problem.

Taking her time with the drink, she swallows a mouthful, before swiping her tongue over the no-longer-glossed lips in satisfaction. It doesn’t taste as excellent as a one-hundred-year-old Chardonnay imprisoned in her mother-in-law’s basement, kept only for ‘special occasions’, as the witch would put it in words, though she’ll cut Grease some slack for once.

“Why are you here, Alice?” When the woman in question slightly angles her head to stare into his rich brown eyes, he continues; “I mean, decades after you leave the Southside in exchange for the Northside, you show up unannounced at the most shitty time possible.”

His eyes don’t crinkle when he laughs, like they usually do, so she doesn’t let herself be fooled by the fake smile that stretches his lips afterward.

Deliberately ignoring his abrupt attempt at a failed interrogation, she voices her thoughts. “Have you talked to your son yet?”

She watches as his whole body goes rigid, shoulders tense and smile faltering as he cranes his neck to be able to tear his eyes away from her intrigued stare. “As you possibly know, Jughead needs to adjust in his new home, that’s why he isn’t here. It’s also for his best if he stays away from this place,” his eyes roam the building as if to prove his point.

This time, it’s the journalist’s turn to let out a half-hearted snicker while she brings the glass to her lips, attempting to hide her amusement at his bad luck, wrong choices and missed opportunities, now that each and every one of them dawns upon her like the setting of the sun.

Rummaging through her mental briefcase of memories, she takes out the one in which a much younger version of F.P. and her were laying on a hill with a breathtaking view over Riverdale.

 

* * *

 

_A chilly February breeze winded through her cheerleading uniform and she clutched at the hem of the blue and gold dress to prevent it from rising, making her look like Marilyn Monroe’s long lost sister._

_Twinkling stars aligned above her wavy strands of hair, gathered in one position to create spectacular constellations, some of which held a special spot in her heart._

_Without taking her baby blues off the spectacle, her hand wandered without guidance for F.P.’s bigger one through the glistening snow. When she could feel the familiarity of flesh and bones, she instantly intertwined their fingers together, squeezing them to gain his attention._

_Once her lover hummed at the gesture, squeezing back, Alice felt herself heave a relieved sigh at the reciprocation of even the smallest of affections. It made her feel wholesome._

_She peaked a glance at F.P.’s face, and an overwhelming urge to test him washed over her body like someone had just poured a bucket full of ice on her head._

_“The easiest way to locate the constellation is to find its two brightest stars, Castor and Pollux, eastward from the familiar ‘V’ shaped asterism of Taurus and the three stars of Orion’s belt.”_

_Those were the crypted instructions she’d let him on, not once revealing which constellation she wanted him to pay extra attention to. Finding herself giggling at his strained and uncertain guesses and wild finger-pointing, she turned them all down with a swift negative response._

_“If you ever find it, I will ask you a question,” she added, encouraging him to pursue the curiosity sparkling in his dark eyes._

_The blonde remembers how she’d left him clueless for the entire night, before she somehow managed to successfully straddle him while in a fit of uncontrollable giggling, and when she leaned down to kiss him, her lips hovered above his in a teasing manner which F.P. didn’t find quite appreciative._

_Strands of wavy hair fell into her lover’s face, intentionally hiding it from the luminescence of the starlit sky. Moving her smudged lips, she mouthed a sequence of words which, judging by F.P.’s face, went unnoticed._

 

* * *

 

As soon as the glass is on the counter, there’s a reminiscing smile playing on the editor’s lips as she thinks back on the rest of the night spent in the back of his truck, and how the pleasure that came along with her head between his thighs completely erased any traces left off their little quiz.

“What’re you smilin’ for?” Turning her head to make eye contact with the Serpent, it occurs to her why precisely they split.

Deep, dark eyes that have had the power to melt every girl’s heart back in the days. It hasn’t been a secret that even though F.P. used to wear his leather jacket over a plain shirt to make it obnoxiously obvious to the other students which gang he’s a member of, the girls still ogled his physique in secrecy.

Now that her youngest daughter is dating Jones Jr. who’s taken after his father in his immaculate chivalrous mannerism, but also in his unyielding dedication and loyalty he never ceases to prove toward Elizabeth, there’s a foreign emotion surging through Alice’s veins.

Envy.

The carefree smile on her face disappears as quickly as it appeared. Not wishing to be regarded as someone ignorant, she gives F.P. an answer to his question, without tearing her eyes off her glass.

“Nothing, nothing.”  _Worth mentioning._

Actually, giving it a second thought, the journalist swirls around in her high chair, turning her entire body so it’s facing Jones. With pursed lips and steel eyes, she deadpans, “How could you?”

Once upon a lifetime ago, she would have thought his defined jawline and chiseled cheekbones to be suave, but now that they aren’t together anymore, it doesn’t faze her when his jaw clenches and a rosy color fawns his cheeks.

“Look, Alice, I should be the one to ask you that, not the other way ‘round.” The brunet’s voice cracks in the middle of speaking, and although the woman cannot see his face, she suspects he’s fighting back tears. Of remorse, perhaps.

She may have lost her dignity and sense of happiness the moment she walked out of his life, but that hasn’t taken away her pride. It’s still there and stronger than ever. Alice evinces so by spilling the accumulated dread and hopelessness that’s been weighing on her conscience since her back was turned on him.

“ _You_  feel betrayed? How do you think  _I_  feel?” Unaware of the rising tone in her voice, she continues putting weight on every sentence that passes her lips. “Everything was  _so_ ,  _so_ … perfect!” Tears are welling up in her baby blues, the ocean behind them ready to overflow. “Then you gave me up for them…” her voice significantly drops, reduced to only a ghostly whisper.

Barely catching up with the fact that she’s no longer sitting, confronted with an impetuous and plodding feebleness overtaking her knees, Alice blindly snatches the glass off the counter and downs it all at once.

Cooper knows that if she keeps slamming glasses on the counter it’ll become a habit, which she’s afraid wouldn’t be that easy to get rid of.

Not caring one bit that some droplets of alcohol now stain the collar of her beige coat, the blonde raises one foot to leave, but the second it hits the floor, the digested liquor intervenes greatly with her physical balance.

Blurry silhouettes announce their presence through endless voices as they fade and reappear again in her sight. Feeling like a cornered lioness, Cooper cautiously avoids making any type of contact with them until she pushes past the door of her home, and into Oz.

Just to be sure, she bends over and ducks her head, checking for the Wicked Witch of West’s infamous ruby slippers beneath the bar’s wooden structure.

Evidently having run out of luck, Alice straightens her spine and huffs in irritation, her cheeks puffing out as a minor cloud of frosted air exists her lips.

Brumal draught whistles and wraps itself around Alice’s slim frame, who cannot withstand her teeth from clattering, nor mustering enough strength to restrain her hands from rubbing together, loudly scolding herself for forgetting her gloves inside the office.

Pushing all these worries at the back of her mind, the blonde reaches for the balustrade with one hand, gripping it tightly to prevent her from slipping on her way down the scanty stairsteps.

The quietness is broken by the echoing sound of Alice’s black stilettos hitting the concrete after ascending the cemented steps.

Not quite sure if the liquor is clouding her judgement and gives her a sensation of dizziness, the blonde silently curses herself for ordering strong drinks, but also Grease, for not warning her beforehand.

Stumbling with each step she takes, the editor rakes her manicured fingers through her wavy strands of loose hair, disentangling its ends.

Feeling as if her feet will give in any second from now, she halts to catch her breath. Which is odd, since she hasn’t been running. Pulling her phone out of her coat pocket, her eyes impulsively squint at the brightness of the screen lock that reads nearly 11 p.m.

Heaving the most frustrated sigh in her life, Cooper is partially glad that her alcohol resistance hasn’t failed her, even after over two decades of quitting clubs and cheap spirits.

However, the constant throbbing of her head is a painful reminder that her immunity may have started to disappoint her after all.

A voice pierces through the sharp click of her heels as Alice resumes walking, and while her face twists in confusion as to who it can be, she spins around out of curiosity, and who she sees reminds her of the metaphor;  _curiosity killed the cat_.

Running to catch up with her is Jones Sr., and no matter how much she wishes her feet would move, it’s like gravity forces them to stay still, all the while small fragments of repressed memories surface from the corners of her mind that she doesn’t dare enter.

Nonetheless, her eyebrows knit together in a mixture of both indignation and wonder. Breathing in a puff of frosted air, mentally preparing herself to counter whatever will come out of his mouth with some of her best defensive remarks, she let’s her façade harden her stare just like a mask made of cement.

Once F.P. reaches her, panting, with both hands on his thighs, Cooper jolts back the moment he takes her hand and guides it so it drapes around his shoulders and loops his other arm around her waist so it takes a lot of the pressure off her walking.

Her voice dies in the back of her throat when she wants to utter a protest, letting the well-known comfort engulf her as she laces her fingers with her ex-lover’s, whom holds on tightly to the hand wrapped around his shoulder.

“There’s no way you’re going home in this state while I’m around,” is the only explanation he divulges while they fall into step together. Alice isn’t complaining though, because she knows how much shame she’d bring to the family, more so than Polly did when she went and got knocked up behind everyone’s back.

But times have changed, and for the sake of Polly and her future grandchildren, Alice is more than willing to be the supportive mother she wasn’t lucky to have back in high school.

Pushing the thought aside to focus on where her feet are directing her, the former Serpent can decipher some of the blurred words on a white two-poled sign that says ‘Sunny’.

Why would F.P. bring her to the Sunnyside?

There are many question lying on the tip of her tongue, but she bites them back as soon as what looks like a trailer enters her point of view.

The brunet disentangles their fingers from each other to retrieve the key from the pocket of his leather jacket. At the loss of physical contact, Alice let’s out strangled vibrations that sound like a whine without actually meaning to.

Whether or not Jones has heard her, that’s a thought Alice has no time to dwell on, as the door is pushed open by the Serpent’s arm that’s not attached to her.

Gently leading her to the couch after closing the door with one of his feet, F.P. hurries out of her eyesight and Alice hears drawers being frantically opened and closed within a second.

Starting to relax her clenched muscles, the blonde slips the coat off her shoulders and places it on the couch’s backrest.

Her back dips awfully slow into the surprisingly soft cushion, and her eyes flutter shut as sleepiness becomes too overbearing, only to open them at an unknown time when something cold nudges her hand.

Beside her hand is a tall glass of water with a lemon to rim the glass, together with an aspirin resting inside F.P.’s palm, who smiles warmly from his position on the other side of the couch, while Alice tilts her head like a child when met with a conundrum. 

“Here you go. It will help you ease any nausea you may feel, but you probably already know that.”

Hardly having any time to sneer at him because of her light headache, Alice grabs the glass after swallowing the pill and starts drinking without a second thought. Droplets cover her ironed dress shirt that she tries to wipe off before placing the glass on a small coffee table.

“Feelin’ any better?”

She doesn’t nod, afraid the nausea will return, instead she musters a weak positive response as she takes the offered handkerchief to wipe the traces left of water from her lips.

Once the handkerchief rests on the coffee table alongside the glass, Cooper slides her hands down her knees in repetitive motion for a few long-stretched seconds, before she hears Jones suck in a breath.

As her neck cranes to meet his eyes with an inquiring stare, F.P. parts his lips and says, “Reminds me of the first time we met, doesn’t it?” His gaze is fixated on the glass, a tiny smile making it’s way on his face.

In a flash, dozens upon dozens of memories are piling up in her mind, each echoing the promise of once upon a time.

 

* * *

 

_Sweat mingled with alcohol had never been a good combination, something she had experienced first-hand the night Mantle had thrown a huge birthday party, where he’d invited every student attending Riverdale High._

_At first, she’d been reluctant in going, but when her future husband had spent an entire week convincing her to loosen up some of her custom behavior, Alice had given in merely out of pity for the golden boy._

_Thirty minutes in, and the party had been going full blast, with speakers booming with what was considered ‘tubular’ in the 80’s. Streaming through her veins were the detective skills which ran off the charts when she’d spotted Clayton spiking the peach-flavored punch._

_Wanting to call him out on what he’d done, the blonde came to a halt when she’d felt a hand grip her wrist, and when her body spun around, the face of none other than Hal Cooper had greeted her with a giant smile._

_Meaningless words and brief kisses were exchanged before Alice had taken off to the kitchen to fetch herself a glass of water, since she’d very much prefer to decrease the alcohol in her bloodstream._

_Sitting on the kitchen counter was a young man dressed from head to toe in leather, whose legs had swung in a giddy fashion while he swirled the water in the glass he had cradled in the palm of his hand._

_Looking precisely as she had anticipated, with his carefully styled hair and the sleeves of his Serpent jacket rolled up, but also the different emotions swarming in his eyes once he’d laid them on her; how can one forget such a memory?_

 

* * *

 

Smiling doesn’t seem as easy as it’s been back in the days, hence the seemingly permanent scowl on the editor’s face as the moment is drained of all colors, leaving it dull and monochrome.

“Funny, how you still wore that filthy leather jacket even after you’ve been thrown into the mud along with it.” Alice adds forcefully, trying her hardest not to falter from under F.P.’s scrutinizing gaze, now shifted to her.

The man chuckles lightly. “You paid attention to  _that_  only?” He puts a hand to his heart in mockery. “And here I throught I cleaned it thoroughly.”

Baby blues turn to steel as she leans in just the right amount; not too invading, but also not enough. “As the night came to an end, do you know what I mouthed to you?” Her voice is smooth as velvet while remotely choosing to ignore his off-hand statement.

Changing expression from mockery to genuine curiosity, there’s no indication on his face suggesting the brunet minds to have his personal space breached.

Cocking his head both sides, he scratches his stubble thoughtfully. Moving his eyes to meet Alice’s gaze, there’s a flicker of recognition in the hollow depths of F.P.’s irises that awakens underlying emotions inside the editor, and without further ado, the distance between them shortens gradually.

Furthermore, Alice’s lips pause over the brunet’s in a ghostly touch; breathing in her ex-lover’s heliotrope fragrance coupled with frangipani, gaining on a mouth-watering quality that is delectable, like a billowy dessert she can’t resist.

Tearing her irises off F.P.’s parted lips to stare into his questioning eyes, she purposely lowers her eyelids as her searing gaze takes on a new level of ardor.

“I don’t wanna be your friend,” she concludes in a hushed whisper, expression softening considerably. With slow movements, her lips trace the contour of the Serpent’s jawline while she’s basking with pride in witnessing how affected he appears.

His characteristic Adam’s apple bobbles while he draws in rugged breaths that fan across her skin like a warm summer breeze the moment Alice’s bottom lip glides to his earlobe.

“I wanna kiss your neck.” Bold words have been muttered, and her lips stay glued on his tanned skin as Alice trails close-mouthed kisses starting from his neck until she reaches the collar of his leather jacket.

The moans erupting from the back of the brunet’s throat cause dizziness to seep within every nerve of her, blocking out each reason of doubt she may have.

Encouraged by the erotic sounds she won’t ever admit she’s missed hearing, the blonde withdraws only to take the jacket off, all the while staring into his eyes with that little smirk she knows he adores.

Once the jacket thuds to the floor, the immediate presence of muscular hands on her hips take Alice aback the second her body’s being pulled against her third love.

Noses bump into each other and with her hands settling on his shoulders, the blonde tilts her head to have better access at F.P.’s lips.

“I missed the way you make me feel,” his voice wavers, exhilarated from the tension between them, which is apparently good enough for Cooper, who smiles and leans in to kiss him again.

In a fraction of a second, a misty fog settles above her morals and values, her marriage of over two decades dispersing into thin air. Forgotten are the words she tells herself so late at night;  _that she has no regrets._

Cooper would have fought it, but she is weak, and so she permits herself to indulge into the sweetness of the brunet’s lips, becoming an adulterer yet again. But she doesn’t know how to resist the man whom she’d once promised the stars to.

Within minutes, they find themselves ridden of the thick layers of clothing now discarded on the floor. The disadvantages of not having sexual intercourse for a good amount of years are starting to crawl out from the back of Alice’s mind.

Irresolute on whether F.P. still finds pleasure in her straddling his hips and tracing her tongue over the more sensible parts of his body that will surely elicit a suppressed groan from him (like the many times before), the woman places her hands on the man’s chest, tenderly pushing him down onto the cushion.

His hands reach up to her hips, fingerprints leaving their mark on her inflamed skin as he guides her physique on top of him, that being enough for her to conclude that the brunet still enjoys being dominated by her.

Swiping to the side the blonde waves of hair dangling like a curtain surrounding the Serpent’s frenzied face, she slants forward so that her nose yet again bumps his.

The descending of the gentle snow swaying through the wind catches her eye, and from afar, it looks like someone has popped open a popper of white confetti.

She kisses him and the world falls away. It is slow and soft, comforting in ways that words will never be. One of his hands rests below her ear, his thumb caressing her cheek as their breaths mingle.

She traces the tips of her fingers down his chest, earning an unrestricted moan from Jones, whom pulls her closer until there is no space left between them and she can feel the beating of his heart against her chest.

Their lips burn against one another, the alcohol pumping through her veins like it’s a substitute for blood. Adrenaline fills her every cell and fiber, and she cannot recall ever being as bold as she is now, helping F.P. take off his underwear.

— She doesn’t care that they are enemies, divided by the harsh strike of reality their actions have brought upon them over two decades ago, when they skirted around each other’s feelings like professional ballerinas.

The editor strokes and caresses places she’s only dreamed of, and the pleasurable sounds coming from her third love’s mouth are evoking new heights of arousal within her.

— She doesn’t care that she’s about to become ‘an adulterer’ just because of the burning sensation that F.P.’s touch seems to leave everywhere on her skin makes her yearn for more; because the buried longing keeps surfacing again and again every time she as much catches a glimpse of his ankle.

They’ve somehow switched positions when she hasn’t been paying much attention, her vision blurry and solely focused on her enemy’s mesmerizing features, that she doesn’t feel her back sink into the soft cushion, Jones’ body pressing tightly against hers.

— She doesn’t care about the consequences, having thought them through, because she has been waiting for this moment for decades, and she cannot possibly let it slip through her fingertips that easily.

F.P. pulls her body even closer to his as his arms wrap around her figure, his lips setting her entire body ablaze with every naughty, suggestive phrases and passionate kisses.

— She doesn’t care, because she is well aware that once this is over, the spark between them would have been consummated and there will be no reason as to why they should continue. And she’s perfectly content with it.

The moment his lower part enters hers, all the neglected emotions instantly surge forward into the light, pleasure and pain occupying her mind and make her head spin as Alice is clutching at F.P. for support.

— She doesn’t care, simply because the sun peeks through the curtains of the room, and she rolls on her other side to look at her ex-lover’s sleeping form nuzzled comfortably into the couch, his face buried into a large amount of pillows; and she doesn’t regret it.

Stretching out her arms and legs as the thin blanket reveals her nudity, she gets up as silently as humanly possible to gather her discarded clothes.

Buttoning her shirt, Alice whips her head to look out of the window at the prancing snowflakes. Approaching the window, a small gasp escapes her lips as dozens of twinkling stars light up the February morning sky.

With pictures permanently burned in her mind of that same morning, twenty years ago, the journalist heads toward the couch, where she bends over to snatch her coat.

Trying not to wake F.P. turns out to be pure sophistry, hence the wail he utters as his eyelids flutter open. Strands of grey, disheveled hair pinpoint the early stages of aging as he rakes his slim fingers through it, clearly attempting to style it a bit.

Alice slips on her coat wordlessly, only gazing at her fling with indescribable emotions reflecting in her blue irises.

Neither of them utters a single word for a solid few minutes, before the blonde breaks the ice by nodding toward the window, complementing the nostalgic scenery.

The brunet responds vaguely, sitting up on the couch while rubbing his eyes. Alice cannot help her eyes from gliding down past his stomach, so she furiously whirls around to give him privacy.

Regardless, she clears her throat in an attempt to hide her embarrassment, which the Serpent chuckles at. The couch squeaks and Cooper figures the man gets up, and on the account of the sound of heavy footsteps that reach her ears, her detective nature demands her to spin around and see what’s going on.

It takes all of her willpower to clench her muscles to prevent her from subconsciously turning to admire the physique she’s dangerously accustomed with.

“Gonna stand there all day?”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Alice faces a fully clothed F.P., all the while scowling at his newfound glee for their situation.

“Wanted to give you privacy. Something wrong with that?”

A brow arches. “Like you did last night?” His tone is teasing, dripping with hilarity, but it’s also serious enough to drive her up the walls with irritation.

Moisturizing her lips, Alice looks poignantly at her enemy  ~~with benefits~~. “Last night was a mistake,” cascades from her mouth in a snarl.

Now it’s the Serpent’s time to tilt his head in incredulity. “Was it really? Let me refresh your memory for you, Alice.  _You_  initiated it. You, with your educated eyes and head between  _my_  thighs, not Hal’s,” Jones stops mid-sentence when his voice resonates a little louder throughout the trailer, and takes a moment to regain his composure.

Rubbing the back of his neck while shifting his weight on both feet, he resumes where he left off. “Telling me that I’d never—”

“Fine, I get it!” Inclined to wipe that smug expression off his face, Alice settles for throwing her arms exasperatedly instead. “Just… forget about this.”

Giving her a defiant look, F.P. challengingly advances toward her, halting only when he’s within arm’s reach. “Last night was the best night of my life. I’ve never felt so happy since Jughead allowed me a second chance.”

His hand finds its way to Alice’s face, tender fingertips sweeping across her jawline. He is so pleasant to the touch, so warm and  _so_  homely. Overwhelmed, Cooper stops his fingers from invoking anymore wishful thinking by cupping his hand.

“I need to go, F.P. Unlike you, I’ve still got a family to care for.” From the looks of it, it seems as if the words sting deeper than she has anticipated.

Lowering his hand, as well as her expectations for a future, forbidden meeting, she steps away from him, hands still intertwined, giving his a gentle squeeze; because it’s not the changes they both underwent that break her heart. It’s the tug of familiarity.

Dropping their hands altogether, her arm falling limply by her side, Alice raises a foot to leave, but before she can get the luxury of fleeting to her picket fence house and trophy husband, F.P.’s sweet voice leaves her heaving through corrupted lungs.

“The easiest way to locate the constellation is to find its two brightest stars, Castor and Pollux — then I can’t remember the rest. But what I do remember,“ he stops to stare directly into her very soul, “is the answer.”

A humorless chuckle fills the room with utter bitterness, leaving amble space for memories to occupy, much to Alice’s disdain.

Baby blues shimmer with tears that are pointless to hide, because it's this time, in this moment, that the truth will come out.

For good.

Sadness also revels in his brown eyes, though unlike his counterpart, F.P. conceals the haunted look in them by marching toward the window, back facing the Northsider.

“You remember.” It isn’t a question, rather a soft-spoken statement veiled by disbelief.

The nodding of his head is barely visible, and she would have missed it if it weren’t for her eyes burning holes into it already.

The journalist’s feet move to stand beside F.P. on their own accord, and just like that February morning, they end up gazing at the thousands of luminous spheres of plasma.

Gracefully, as never before, Alice allows a few tears to quietly roll down her reddened cheeks. Allows herself to dwell within the faded silhouettes imprinted in her mind. Because that night has changed everything and nothing all at once.

As the word she’s yearned for all those decades ago slips from the Southsider’s mouth, the advisor takes it as her cue to leave.

If only Alice Cooper could just rewind the time, then maybe she’d learn how to love. 

Nearing the door, however, she cannot help but feel that he’s fairly earned his long-awaited reward; the question that’s never bothered Alice up until now.

With her hand on the handle, Cooper peers over her shoulder, an imperfect smile painted across her face. The sequence of words lies at the tip of her tongue, tasting of many years of bitterness that she cannot get rid of.

In the meantime, the question hangs in the air even after she’s stepped out of the doorway, not once giving a backward glance.

_“Will you marry me?”_

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Explanation aka Headcanon:
> 
> F.P. Jones and Alice Cooper have been a part of the infamous Serpent gang of the Southside, but Alice has met Hal Cooper, golden boy with a radiant smile and her ticket out of the fruitless future that comes along with being a member of a gang.
> 
> Unbeknownst to her, F.P. Jones has harbored feelings for her in secret, that no one knew about. Until Mantle’s birthday party came to an end, where Alice, dressed as finely as a porcelain doll, something F.P. wasn’t used to, realized what a great guy F.P. really was. And so, without a warning before-hand, the Northsider and the Southsider started their affair.
> 
> One day, the secret lovers had a quarrel, where Alice pleaded F.P. to run away with her and start anew, but he declined her offer. It didn’t end well, and so Alice ran into Hal’s arms, whom she later had unprotected sexual intercourse with, only wanting to forget about the fight she had with F.P.
> 
> This resulted into Alice getting pregnant, and Hal, desperately wanting to maintain his reputation as the perfect student body president, demanded her to get rid of the soul he helped conceive.
> 
> That 14th February morning, all thoughts had left F.P. once Alice straddled him into that airless seduction, only remembering their little quiz after they’d broken up.
> 
> Headcanon that Alice has fallen in love with three people; the brown-haired “Picasso” from kindergarden, the preppy boy with a bright future, and the last one; the mysterious boy who understood her better than anyone.


End file.
